


Truth and Lies

by MJHajost



Category: Emergency! (TV 1972)
Genre: Please do not copy to any other site, Warning for occasional strong language.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MJHajost/pseuds/MJHajost
Summary: It was supposed to be a fun afternoon, but Johnny's attempt at a joke leads to serious consequences for his friend Dutch.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	Truth and Lies

“Sonofabitch!”

Heartfelt, obvious. Loud, definitely. Unusual—most certainly. As Ted “Dutch” Masters’ preferred choice of epithet was a simple “crap,” it seemed quite serious that he was deviating from the norm.

This was not good.

“Dutch?” John Gage dropped to the other man’s side where he sprawled on the ground. “What’d you do?” He was half laughing, certain that his friend was being overly dramatic.

“Fuck!” Another almost unheard of choice of vocabulary. Dutch’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corner of one, and he was swallowing convulsively.

“What happened?” Johnny still sounded skeptical.

“You broke my goddamned ankle!” In truth, Dutch wasn’t sure if it was broken or if several ligaments had been shredded. If it was broken, it was more than one bone. If ligaments were torn…never mind, there WERE ligaments torn. He felt nauseated. Dutch had been injured many times, but nothing could compare to this pain.

John’s expression changed to one of self-righteous defense, and he opened his mouth to protest. A glance around him closed it before he said anything—several people had begun to gather at Dutch’s side, concerned chatter creating a soft buzz around him. Dutch only heard them as background noise to the blood pounding in his ears as adrenaline flooded his system and his heart raced in reaction to injury. Every few seconds he let fly with another heartfelt epithet.

It had started out to be a fun idea. “What about a ropes course?” John had suggested.

“A what?”

“A ropes course—you know, where you have to climb around different rope and wooden bridge setups. This one has zip lines you do.”

“Huh.” Dutch was indifferent, but he had agreed to do what John wanted this weekend, since they both had the time off, he had no date for that night, and he was bored.

It was almost ridiculously easy for both of them, and as they approached the mid-point of the course, Johnny got it into his head that he should shake things up, so to speak. Well, in fact, literally shake them up. Dutch had been in front as they arrived at the platform. He was maneuvering around the anchoring pole, unhooking from the prior cable on the smart belay, preparing for the rope wall on the other side of the platform, when John jokingly jostled him. He hadn’t realized that Dutch was partially untethered at that particular moment, and much to his consternation, Dutch had unbalanced and toppled off the platform. He’d tried to grab the rope wall as he fell, and almost managed it, but his fingers merely brushed against it. He landed heavily on his right leg, which collapsed beneath him with a loud “pop” and resulted in the flurry of cursing that was still issuing vehemently from his mouth.

A course supervisor was racing to the site of his fall, a walkie-talkie crackling in his hand as he shouted into it. “What the hell?” he demanded, pushing through the small crowd now gathered around the fallen man.

“Call a goddamn ambulance!” snarled Dutch, taking a deep breath at last. He felt weak and shaky and not a little angry. His back was becoming damp from the grass on which he had fallen, and the smell of wet earth and sweat pervaded his nostrils. He closed his eyes and swallowed again.

“What the hell were you doing off harness?” The course worker was obviously shaken up. He hadn’t had a fall on his watch in all his time working here—they were almost unheard of.

Dutch dropped his head to the ground and didn’t bother to reply.

Johnny was conspicuously quiet. He had honestly never thought that his little jostling would cause Dutch to fall—and truth be told, looking back he supposed he had thought Dutch was hooked by his harness to the guide wires, as he should have been. The system was designed so that participants were always supposed to be tethered. He put a tentative hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Man, I’m really sorry—I thought you were hooked on,” he said.

Dutch opened his eyes and glared at him. “I was,” he muttered, grimacing again. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at his right foot, which already felt swollen to twice its size. Pain pulsed with every heartbeat, arcing horribly up from foot to knee. “The goddamned carabiner snapped!”

Both John and the course supervisor’s heads flew back and both men gazed in horror at the platform, line, and rope wall. “No way,” murmured the employee. “No fucking way.”

“Can you move your foot?” Johnny’s attention reverted to Dutch, now in paramedic mode, shifting to Dutch’s foot and peering at the curiously angled joint.

“No!” Dutch heaved another sigh. “But thanks for asking.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Johnny shot him a look, unsure if Dutch were angry or not. Dutch returned the look with a sideways glare. John decided that Dutch seemed to be recovering his equilibrium, but wisely said nothing besides, “Has anyone called an ambulance or the paramedics?”

The employee spoke into his walkie talkie, waited for a response, then nodded to John, drawing his gaze reluctantly from above. “They’re on their way.”

Johnny leaned over Dutch’s foot. “Is it okay if I try to take off your shoe?”

Dutch narrowed his eyes at him. “You touch that foot and I will personally put your head through that tree.”

John held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Never mind, never mind.”

Dutch arched his head back and looked up toward the platform from which he’d tumbled. “Jesus!” he muttered when he saw the distance between it and the ground where he lay. No wonder his ankle felt shattered.

The course employee, who by now had introduced himself as Scott, began to shoo away the onlookers. To their credit, the small group of gawkers obeyed, though their murmuring continued, clearly unnerved by Dutch’s assertion that something had broken. However the fall had occurred, seeing that Dutch hadn’t been killed on impact, there was little more of interest to keep them there. With a few more puzzled gazes on the pole overhead, the small crowd slowly dispersed. In a couple of minutes, only Dutch and John and Scott remained, waiting for the ambulance.

Dutch dropped back to the ground and rubbed a hand across his face. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and his heart rate return to normal. In contrast, the pain seemed to be increasing. He knew without question that there were broken bones—he didn’t dare move again for fear of jostling them. He didn't have to see bones jutting through his skin to know he would be out of commission for a good long while. He sighed. Pete Daniels was NOT going to be happy, and he could only imagine Gary Chambers’ reaction. Come to think of it, Dutch wasn’t all that thrilled, either.

In due course, the paramedics arrived. “Oh my God,” muttered Dutch.

_Why’d it have to be Brice?_

“Well, well, well.” Brice’s partner, Bob Bellingham, grinned cheerfully at Dutch and Johnny. “What have we here? You playin’ Tarzan, Dutchie?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bob,” said Dutch.

“Okay, you need to stop talking so I can take your blood pressure.” Craig Brice fussed with the blood pressure cuff.

“Go to hell, Brice.” Dutch jerked his arm out of Brice’s grip. “Bob?”

“I got it, Craig,” said Bellingham. “You go ahead and get a hold of Rampart.” He wrapped the cuff around Dutch’s arm and asked him what happened.

“Fell off the platform.” Dutch gestured vaguely skyward. “Up there.” He didn’t implicate Gage in the accident, an action that did not go unnoticed by his friend, who looked slightly relieved but said nothing.

Bellingham’s gaze followed Dutch’s wave and his eyebrows rose to his sparse hairline. He didn’t say anything, but emitted a low whistle. His joking ceased and he relayed the vital signs without additional comment. He was already preparing the IV before Brice repeated Rampart’s directions for morphine.

In a matter of minutes, they had Dutch’s leg carefully and gently splinted, the IV inserted and morphine flowing, and were loading him into the ambulance.

John said he’d follow in his car, to which Dutch’s response was a look that said, “Really, John?” Then, the ambulance doors closed, and the truck departed.

Scott looked at John. “I’ll need you to fill out some forms for me…”

John sighed. “Yeah, I figured as much.” He followed Scott to the office, filled in as much of the information as he could, and then insisted that Dutch was the one who had to ultimately sign off on the paperwork. While they had both signed waivers, only Dutch could finalize the documentation related to his fall. He agreed to bring the man back at some point, though refusing to specify a day or time. Finally, he simply departed, making his way to the hospital to check on his friend.

<><><><><><><><><>

Dutch lay on the table of an exam room where he’d been deposited, closing his eyes and thinking that if he were lucky he might get to leave before the end of the weekend. He still wore the climbing harness, and even in spite of the splint and morphine his ankle ached abominably. He sighed and wished the damn doctors would hurry up and come in. Instead, the door opened and an unfamiliar matronly nurse entered.

“Hi!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “What brings you in this afternoon?”

Dutch opened one eye and stared at her. “Looking for a place to take a nap,” he replied. “I was getting tired of the car.” He closed his eye again.

She blinked, then grinned. “Oh, so that’s how you want to play, huh?” She pulled the computer cart forward, entered a few keystrokes, and pulled up his patient information. She demanded he provide his name and birthdate, then logged a few more keystrokes before picking up a stethoscope. “I’m Rhonda,” she told him. “Just gonna take another set of vitals while we wait for the doctor.”

As she said that, the door opened again. This time a young man entered. He looked like an orderly, and Dutch briefly wondered when they started allowing high school students to work as orderlies in hospitals, never mind why an orderly was in the exam room while a patient was being seen. The man offered his hand and Dutch shook it bemusedly as the other introduced himself. “Dr. Dave Waters,” he said cheerfully. “Doing a consult as part of my rotation. Dr. Brackett will be in soon. They tell me you’ve probably got a broken ankle.” He glanced at the splint and shook his head. “You know, they really shouldn’t let grown men climb around in trees.”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” Dutch retorted.

Waters laughed. “As soon as Rhonda here has finished with your vitals, we’ll get some X-rays and see what’s going on with that ankle. How’s the pain?”

“Pretty shitty.” Dutch swallowed again. He was thirsty and wished he could have some water or something.

“You always this cheerful, or am I getting special treatment?” Waters grinned and busied himself checking Dutch’s eyes and probing his shoulders. “You hurt anywhere else besides your leg?”

Dutch shook his head. “Oh, the leg is more than enough, trust me.”

“How far did you say you fell?” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.

Dutch thought a moment. The morphine having kicked in, he felt a little loopy and he was starting to have trouble concentrating . “I don’t know…fifteen, twenty feet maybe? We were near the middle of the course—the platforms get higher and higher as you go…”

“Hm.” Waters frowned.He looked at Dutch’s chart as the nurse entered his blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. “Everything else looks good. Let’s get that X-ray tech in here.” He patted Dutch’s shoulder. “We’ll get you taken care of as quick as we can.” He and the nurse disappeared and were replaced shortly by John Gage. “How you doin’?”he asked.

“Oh, peachy keen.” Dutch dropped a hand over his face.

“Oh.” John seemed a bit disconcerted for a minute. “Well, they’ve got some paperwork at the ropes course you need to sign off on. I’ll run you over whenever you want.”

“I already signed a waiver,” Dutch groused. “What more do they want?”

“Just want you to verify what happened, is all,” John told him. Dutch grunted.

The X-ray tech entered the room at that point, and John quietly disappeared.

Half an hour later, joined by Johnny, Kelly Brackett, Dutch, and Dr. Waters all peered at the films Brackett had placed in the light boxes in Dutch’s exam room. Brackett pointed to the affected area on both pictures. “Looks like a pilon fracture,” he explained. “I’d expect that,” he added, looking at Dutch, “after a fall like that. I’m seeing probable surgery in your future.”

Dutch heaved another sigh. “Crap.”

Brackett smiled. “We won’t do it right away. For now, we’ll splint you and let the swelling go down.”

“Crap,” said Dutch again. He sighed and then asked, “How long’s this gonna take?”

Brackett smiled. “Let’s put it this way,” he answered. “You’re not going to be going anywhere any time soon.”

Dutch’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak. After a split second he closed it again.

“Sorry,” said Brackett, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the cabinet behind him. “It’s a closed fracture, but you know how unstable a pilon fracture is.” He shook his head. “I’m not letting you go anywhere until we know that break isn’t going to move around. If we keep you immobilized right now—and I mean good and properly immobilized—you might be able to avoid plates and screws down the line. We’ll do an orthopedic consult and see what they think.”

Dutch closed his eyes and swore under his breath again. No one else spoke. At last, he opened his eyes again and without looking at anyone else said, “Might as well get started.”

Out of his line of sight Johnny moved as if to offer a comment, but a quick glance at his friend’s face stopped him. There was nothing he could say, anyhow, that would mitigate the damage done.

“We’ll get you up to orthopedics as soon as we can,” Brackett told Dutch. “Just try to take it easy until then.”

Dutch didn’t bother replying. After a moment, Brackett touched Dutch lightly on the shoulder, then he and Waters departed. Johny remained behind, knowing he should say something and completely at a loss as to what that might be.

On the exam table, Dutch had once more closed his eyes against the bright overhead lights. “You don’t need to stay,” he said to Johnny.

“Oh…I, uh…” Johnny stammered. “I was, uh…” He swallowed and tried again. “Look, Dutch, I am really sorry about this.”

“I know you are.” Dutch’s eyes remained closed.

Johnny swore. “It was such a stupid thing to do! I just…I had no idea you’d fall.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence. “Did that carabiner really snap?” Johnny at last asked, his voice diffident.

Dutch held up the strap attached to the harness that no one had yet bothered to remove. The clip was undamaged.

“Shit.”

Dutch’s hand fell back to his stomach. “Yup.”

“Why’d you say it snapped?”

Dutch sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I just thought I could save some embarrassment or something.”

“Well, that was a—“ Johnny stopped himself before he finished the thought. He had been going to say “stupid thing to do.” He amended it with, “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me for not thinking real clear in the heat of the moment,” snapped Dutch.

Johnny gaped for a second. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dutch, flapping one hand in a dismissive motion, “so you said. Look, Johnny, I’m not in the best mood right now. Can we discuss this some other time?” He closed his eyes again and said nothing more, not even when Johnny muttered that he should probably leave and that he’d check on him later.

If Johnny had stayed, he might have noticed the strap that held the other part of the smart belay system Dutch wore—the one with the broken connector.

<><><><><><><><><>

“Uh uh, no way.” Yet another doctor was shaking his head while he pointed at the X-ray. “No point in waiting. We’re gonna do this as soon as we can—first thing Monday morning— tomorrow, if we can manage it.”

Dutch might have argued but at this point, he was drained, tired of trying to pretend everything would be all right. He had no fight left. “I don’t really care,” he muttered. “Whatever you think.”

A.J. Naumann smiled slightly. “I kinda like to have my patients on board with me,” he said. The orthopedic surgeon on duty when Dutch and his X-rays were sent up, he had disagreed with Brackett’s recommendation to wait several days to operate. Brackett deferred to the specialist, and Naumann had broken the news bluntly.

“Doc, I’m on board with whatever we have to do.” Dutch sighed. “Sorry. Could I have some water or something?” He’d been at the hospital for hours now, and was developing a headache to go with the ankle pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything, and he knew that very soon he was also going to have to confess to an urgent need for a urinal. Someone handed him a cup of water, which he downed greedily.

“I’ll check the OR schedule, then,” said Naumann. “Meanwhile, we’ll get you admitted.” He departed, leaving Brackett with Dutch.

“Anybody we can call for you?” he asked.

“You can ask Gage if he’s already called my brother,” Dutch suggested tiredly.

Brackett nodded. “I’ll check,” he offered.

“Doc?”

“What?”

“Naumann…is he any good?”

Brackett smiled. “I wouldn’t have consulted him if he wasn’t,” he answered. “You’ll be in good hands.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Brackett turned to the nurse hovering in the background. “Sue, let’s get him admitted, up in orthopedics.”

An hour and a half later, Dutch was situated, not contentedly perhaps, in a hospital bed, his right leg encased in a sturdy and painful rigging, and a more comfortable bladder. He was exhausted. Gage had indeed contacted Dutch’s brother, Drew, who had arrived while Dutch was being settled in his room. He only stayed a few minutes, but agreed to take the clothes Dutch had been wearing on arrival—including the zip line harness, which Dutch asked him to photograph and then return to the course. Drew was puzzled for a moment, but then agreed without argument. He figured he’d know what he was supposed to see when he did as Dutch requested. “When is the surgery?” he asked, rather than the countless other questions he would have preferred to have answers to.

“Monday, first thing,” Dutch answered.

Drew studied him a minute. “You okay?”

Dutch looked at him. “Well, let’s see—I’m lying in a hospital bed with my leg in pieces and a set of pajamas that would make a Playboy bunny blush. You figure it out.”

Drew remained serious. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

Dutch looked away. “Eventually.” He changed topic. “Listen, it’s a lot to ask, but I’m not gonna be able to go home right away. Any chance I can stay with you and Em?”

Drew nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” He yawned and Drew took the hint.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Drew.”

He was being thanked for more than the loan of his guest room, but Drew merely nodded. “Get some sleep,” he repeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

John Gage waited in the hall outside Dutch’s room. Drew, marveling that Gage had been there the entire day, walked over to him. “Thanks for sticking around,” Drew said, offering his hand. Johnny shook it and looked toward the closed door of Dutch’s room.

“I’ll just pop in and say goodnight, and then I’m gonna head home.”

“How’d he fall?” Drew asked.

Johnny started. “What?”

“How’d he fall off that platform? I mean, I know he’s not the most graceful guy, but he’s not that clumsy.”

Johnny hesitated, and then said, “You’ll have to ask him that.” He turned and entered Dutch’s room, where he only stayed for a few minutes. When he once again stepped into the hall, Drew was gone. He heaved a sigh of relief and went home.

Sunday passed in a hazy blur of painkiller-induced sleep, frequently interrupted by nurses carrying out a variety of checks, and a short visit from his brother and his wife Emily. The surgeon stopped in briefly sometime in the afternoon to go over the surgical procedure with him. Dutch had a basic grasp of what would happen, but all he really wanted to know was how soon he could go home post-surgery.

Naumann smiled. “Assuming all goes as planned, we’ll spring you by Thursday.”

About what he’d expected.

<><><><><><><><><>

Monday morning Dutch was prepped and ready to be taken to the OR before Drew arrived. An orderly entered and moved Dutch to the transport gurney, and once in the OR, Dutch was once more transferred, this time to a stationary operating table. The anesthesiologist was waiting to put him under, and the last thing Dutch saw were bright overhead lights and a masked face.

The next thing he knew, he was lying in another room, struggling to surface from the artificial sleep, and shivering uncontrollably. The attending nurse dropped a heavy warm blanket over him, but it was still several minutes before the tremors finally began to abate and he could speak coherently.

“Everything went fine,” the nurse assured him. “We’ll be moving you to your room soon. The doctor will talk to you there once you’re settled in.”

It was more like half an hour before he was being wheeled down hallways again, but soon enough he was situated in a large private room, tubes and wires running to various ports and machines. He couldn’t feel much of anything in his leg, thanks to the anesthesia slowly leaving his system, but he had gotten a brief glimpse of the splints and bandages surrounding his ankle so he knew that something had obviously been done to his foot.

Shortly after the orderlies and nurse left, the surgeon came in, smiling. “How you feeling?” Naumann asked.

“All right, I guess,” Dutch told him. “Everything go okay?”

“Everything went great,” he assured him. He pulled over the computer and logged into it, then spun it around so that Dutch could see. “Here are the new pins,” he said, pointing to the post-surgical X-rays he’d pulled up, “and as you can see, your bones are now properly aligned once more.” He turned back to him. “I see no reason why you won’t have a smooth recovery.”

“How long will I be out of commission?” Dutch asked, even though Brackett had told him the day of the accident that he’d be off the foot for weeks.

“Two months, minimum,” Naumann replied instantly, “more likely three before you’re out of a cast and into physical therapy. Assuming you do as you’re told, stay off your feet until I tell you it’s all right to start using crutches, and you don’t try anything foolish.” He pushed the computer away and turned back to Dutch, crossing his arms. “Do you have someone who will be taking care of you for the next week or two?”

Dutch nodded. Drew and Emily both planned to work from home, either one at a time or together, and help deal with any issues that might arise. They had a nice guest suite on the main floor, where he’d be staying. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t need to stay there more than two weeks tops before he’d be allowed to return to his own apartment, but he was nonetheless grateful for Emily’s insistence that he would be no trouble.

“Good,” said the doctor. “All right, I’ll let you get some rest, see your visitors, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Drew and Emily arrived almost immediately after the doctor departed, but kept their visit as short as the surgeon’s. “We’ll come back tonight,” Drew promised, “when you’re more awake. Take it easy, huh?”

Dutch wasn’t disappointed that they left so quickly. He was, in fact, already sleepy and really just wanted to nap. He closed his eyes and drifted promptly back to sleep.

By Tuesday afternoon, he was practically climbing the walls with boredom. He had a fairly steady stream of visitors, including John Gage, who seemed uncertain of his welcome. But Dutch treated him as he always had—with a mixture of humor and exasperation. He said nothing of the fall, nothing of John’s culpability, and John didn’t try to bring it up. Instead, Dutch made Johnny talk about work, and Johnny awkwardly segued into a story of a rescue from his last shift. By the time John left, he still didn’t know where he stood with his friend, and Dutch was content to leave it that way.

<><><><><><><><><>

He left the hospital late on Thursday, a rented wheelchair in the back of Drew’s car to make moving around less stressful on his newly repaired leg, at least for a few days. There was also a walker. Between them, he and Naumann had decided crutches could wait until his first post-surgical visit. “Listen,” Naumann had suggested, “you’re gonna be immobile for quite a while. You’ll be thankful later that you didn’t push the crutches.” Desperate to be shot of the hospital, Dutch agreed without protest and accepted the wheelchair and walker instead.

“You all set?” Drew had helped situate Dutch in the back seat of his car where his leg could be elevated, taking care to avoid jostling him, and then stowing everything else in the trunk.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Dutch muttered.

Drew’s eyebrows rose. “Everything all right?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Glad to be leaving this place.They wake you up every goddamned hour,” he grumbled to his brother as Drew maneuvered the car into traffic.

“I promise you we will NOT be getting up and checking on you every hour all night,” said Drew emphatically.“You need me to stop anywhere on the way?”

Dutch shook his head. “Nah.” The hospital pharmacy had filled his painkiller prescription. Naumann had insisted he use it when Dutch expressed doubts about the way painkillers in general made him feel. “If the Vicodin gives you trouble, there are plenty of other things out there we can try,” he added. “But do use it—especially at the beginning, and you’ll find that it’ll be a lot easier. The pain will be the worst the first few days, and then it’ll start to abate.”

“Hope you’re hungry,” Drew was saying. “Emily ordered everything off the menu from Anthony’s.”

Dutch, still under the influence of whatever had been in his IV before they disconnected him and sent him on his merry way, tried not to make a face. While breakfast and lunch hadn’t been all that appealing and he’d eaten little, and leaving the hospital had lifted his spirits immeasurably, that didn’t mean he was starving and ready to gorge on Italian. The thought of food was just not tempting. “Sounds good,” he murmured, though, and hoped that he meant it. 

When they arrived at Drew’s, Dutch waited until Drew had the wheelchair unfolded and parked next to the car before he attempted to disentangle himself. It was a good bit awkward, and he had to have his brother’s help. Settled in the chair at last, his leg resting on the raised footrest and feeling a little silly, he allowed Drew to push him into the house. Drew steered him through to the back of the house and parked him at the kitchen table before he went back out to grab Dutch’s bag and walker. Emily greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

The table had already been set, and as Drew put Dutch’s things in the guest room, Emily began putting cartons of food on the table. “I know you’re not drinking alcohol,” she said to Dutch, “so what can I get you to drink?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” he told her. The smell of garlic filled his senses and he felt a mild stirring of appetite.

“Ice?”

Dutch shook his head.

She filled a glass and set it in front of him. Drew joined them, and they began to help themselves to baked ziti, chicken marsala, salad, and garlic breadsticks.

Dutch lifted his water glass and held it aloft. “To a brother and his wife who dare to take on the nursing of a clumsy dork,” he said.

“Salute,” smiled Drew, raising his glass as well.

“You’re always welcome here, Dutch,” Emily assured him with amusement as she sipped her wine.

“Well, thank you, anyhow, for taking me in. I hope I won’t be too much of a bother, but it’ll be nice to have a hand until I can figure out how to do things on my own.”

Conversation flowed easily as they ate—beginning with Dutch’s post-surgical needs and moving rapidly on to work, national and world news, their parents, Dutch’s love life (or lack of it, he insisted), and pretty much anything that any bit of talk branched off to. No one seemed to notice that Dutch actually didn’t have much of an appetite, his assurance to Drew in the car notwithstanding.

After dinner, Dutch opted for bed rather than television with his brother and wife, fearing first that he’d fall asleep and just have to get up and move anyhow, but more because he was exhausted. His leg also felt like it was on fire.

Drew helped him remove the loose track pants he was wearing, but Dutch decided to sleep in his shorts and t-shirt rather than bother with pajamas. After he’d brushed his teeth and finished in the bathroom, Drew helped him into the bed, gently propping his leg on some pillows for him and setting an ice pack atop it. He placed a bottle of waterand Dutch’s painkillers on the nightstand, handed him the remote for the television in the room in case he wanted it, and bade him goodnight.

Dutch lay back and closed his eyes, waiting for the Vicodin to kick in. Unfortunately, he couldn’t lie on his side or shift position on the bed, so he wasn’t very comfortable. His thoughts whirled in unending circle: about the surgeon’s instructions, the uncertainty of his return to work—at a desk, what he was going to do about John, and how he was going to get around once he was cleared to get back on his feet. It’d be months before he’d be able to drive, and knowing that he’d be reliant on others for a good long while was galling.He mulled over the names of those he felt comfortable asking for assistance—a pretty short list, actually. Not that there would be any shortage of offers to help—the state of his refrigerator and cupboards, according to Emily, was testament to the willingness of his friends to provide for him. But chauffeuring him around could easily become tedious, and he just didn’t relish the idea of putting that burden on any one person.

And, God, what the hell was he supposed to do all cooped up, here or in his apartment, for the next several weeks?

Dutch heaved a sigh, tried to ease himself into a more relaxing position, and at last gave up and punched the power button on the television remote. He channel surfed for a few minutes, and finally settled on an innocuous sitcom. He dozed off about halfway through, woke up a while later, and spent the rest of the night dozing fitfully.

<><><><><><><><><>

From the first morning, it was evident that Dutch would not be an easy patient. Not that he was demanding—in fact, it was the exact opposite. Emily loved Dutch dearly—she found him amusing and charming and easy to please. At the same time, he seemed to have a pathological fear of asking for help with mundane tasks, and it took some convincing for him to agree to let them do things for him. Emily at last pointed out the obvious: if he were in the hospital, there would be any number of people who would help him. She and Drew had agreed to take him in with the understanding that for some weeks he would be unable to be independent, and they truly wanted to be able to take care of him.

“Sweetie,” she told him, “we want you to ask us when you need something or when you want something. That’s why you’re staying with us.”

Dutch blushed. “I know,” he said, “it’s just….” He didn’t quite know what to say.

Emily gave him a hug. “Just _ask_ ,” she insisted.

From Dutch’s perspective, the days he spent at his brother’s dragged by, and he was miserable for most of it. As kind as Emily was, and despite her insistence the they were there to cater to him, he hated having to ask for the most basic things—a glass of water, for instance. He felt guilty having someone else prepare all of his meals for him. Having them think they needed to entertain him was, frankly, embarrassing. One, or both, worked from home so there was always someone around to make sure he had what he needed. But what he needed—and desperately wanted—most was his privacy. That, and a beer.

He spent his days watching boring daytime television in his room (to avoid disturbing the others while they conducted business from home) and napping. He borrowed books from their library and went through them surprisingly fast, considering the fact that he wasn’t a big reader. He had few visitors—his parents stopped in together and separately a few times, but he had actively discouraged others, instead suggesting that they wait until he was home again and their visits wouldn’t be disruptive to the others while they tried to work. His phone did ring quite often, and he’d learned to keep it on silent when he wanted to sleep. Drew had fetched Dutch’s laptop from his apartment, and he found himself playing endless games of solitaire. The tedium was overwhelming.

A few days into what he had begun to call his incarceration, Dutch was propped on the bed in Drew’s guest room, idly paging through a magazine, restless and irritable and bored. His leg hurt despite the painkiller he’d taken half an hour ago, and his back ached from the inability to sit or lie in any other position than the one in which his leg was stretched out straight in front of him. He looked up at a knock on the open door.

Drew leaned in. “Mind some company?”

Dutch tossed aside the magazine. “You’re a lifesaver,” he grinned.

Drew came in and dropped into the chair they’d placed there so Dutch would have an alternative to the bed if he wanted. “How’s the leg today?”

Dutch shrugged. “Hurts like hell,” he admitted, “but I’m gettin’ used to it.”

“Sorry you had to fall like that,” Drew said, eyeing Dutch carefully. “I took the harness back to the course office, by the way,” he added.

Dutch looked at him sharply. “Did you take pictures first?”

Drew nodded. “I didn’t leave the harness there.”

Dutch tipped his head. “Figured you wouldn’t.”

“So, what happened, Dutch?”

Dutch sighed. “It’s so stupid,” he muttered, then launched into the events that took place on that platform.When he finished, as he expected, Drew was irate.

“Goddamn it!” He shook his head. “What an ass.”

Dutch nodded. “Yeah, he was an ass. But I wouldn’t have fallen if that carabiner hadn’t snapped.”

“And the carabiner wouldn’t have snapped if he hadn’t knocked you off balance and put that stress on it.”

Dutch looked at him. “Yeah, it would have—eventually.” He shook his head. “Water under the bridge.”

“You gonna sue them?”

Dutch made a face. “Not if I can get them to pony up without a lawsuit.”

“What about Gage?”

Dutch’s head dropped back against the headboard. “The million dollar question.”

“You can’t seriously mean that you’re not going to hold him accountable.”

“Delightful phrase, that,” murmured Dutch. “So overused.” He turned his head toward Drew. “Got any suggestions?”

“Aside from beating him to a pulp?”

“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind,” Dutch told him. “But—“ he gestured to his leg “—things being as they are….”

“I’m happy to step in.”

Dutch snorted. “My knight in shining armor.” He was silent for a bit, then he said quietly, “I didn’t show him the broken piece,” he admitted. He looked at Drew. “I only showed him the unbroken connector.”

Drew blinked. “You—what?”

“I’m not sure why,” Dutch said. “I think…no, I _know_ I wanted him to squirm for a bit. He’ll have to know the truth eventually.”

“You devious son of a bitch.” Drew grinned slowly.

“No, not really. I was just so mad at him I didn’t want him to know the truth.” He sighed. “I just don’t know what to do about it now.”

“Let him suffer for a while,” offered Drew.

“At the least.” Dutch grinned faintly.

“Am I interrupting?”

Both men looked up to see Emily standing the doorway.

“No, come on in,” said Dutch easily. “Your husband is just doing his best to distract me but you’re much easier on the eyes.”

Emily made a face. “God, all you Masters men are the same.”

The brothers looked at each a second, then high-fived.

Emily shook her head. “You guys be okay for a while if I head out?”

“You’re asking for trouble,” grinned Drew.

She stepped into the room and kissed her husband. “Don’t let him practice any dance moves,” she said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Dance moves?” Dutch turned to Drew. “When has she ever seen me do any dance moves?”

<><><><><><><><><>

“Everything’s looking good,” A.J. Naumann said, peering at the latest set of X-rays. He turned back to Dutch. “Incisions are healing well, nothing has shifted out of place, the swelling is almost non-existent.” He looked from the ankle up to Dutch’s face and grinned. “You’re a poster boy for following doctor’s orders.”

“This mean I can start using crutches?” Two weeks out from surgery, Dutch was antsy to go home. Crutches would go a long way toward providing that little bit of independence.

“How’s the pain?”

“Still hurts like hell sometimes, but on the whole it’s about a million times better than it was.”

Naumann nodded. “Good, that means it’s healing. You still using the Vicodin?”

Dutch shook his head. ”Stopped after the first week—I don’t like how it makes me feel. Advil’s working fine.”

Naumann grinned. “All right, then.” He thought for a moment. “You live in an apartment, right? Elevator?”

Dutch shook his head. “Walkup,” he replied. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder how he’d manage three flights up on crutches.

Naumann seemed to have the same thought. “Let’s get you into a permanent castand have Physical Therapy go through crutch use and stair management. Then we’ll get you on your way.”

“When can I start desk duty?” Dutch wanted to know.

“Another two weeks,” Naumann told him, “unless something happens to that ankle in the meantime.”

Not what Dutch had hoped for but about what he’d expected. Again.

Ninety minutes later, Dutch was tottering around the office on crutches, getting the hang of the balance he needed. It was harder than it looked, but before long he could maneuver without much difficulty and at least balance on them when required. He was taken to he physical therapy department and shown how to grip the handrail of stairs with one hand and use the crutch in the other. “Probably not something you should do alone,” suggested the therapist. “Especially if you have a lot of stairs to climb up or down.”

Dutch reflected that once he got up the stairs and into his apartment, he was not going to go back down until it was absolutely necessary.

“I’ll see you in another two weeks,” Naumann told him, ushering him out of the office.

In the waiting room, Gary Chambers put down the ten year old magazine he’d been rifling through and stood up as Dutch swung out. His face split in a grin. “Great—you look normally klutzy instead of special klutzy.”

“Hey, it’s a privilege to chauffeur this klutz around,” Dutch shot back, “so shut up and let’s go.”

Dutch spent a couple more days with his brother, getting the hang of moving around with the crutches, learning to go up and down the stairs. At last, though, he insisted he was ready to go home.

“I’ll be all right,” he told Drew. “Once I get situated at home, I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to, you know.”

He had a point, so the following morning, Drew took him home.

They both paused a moment at the bottom of the first staircase in Dutch’s apartment building, Drew with doubt and Dutch with determination.

It was a bit of a surprise to Dutch that climbing these stairs on crutches was harder than the ones he’d practiced on. The staircases had fewer stairs and they were wider, but they were also open on one side with only a bannister on the right instead of a wall. He wouldn’t be able to use two walls for assistance the way he had at Drew’s house.

Taking a breath and holding onto the handrail on the wall side with one hand and balancing with one crutch under the other arm, he began hopping up the three flights to his apartment. He stopped after the first half dozen steps, breathing hard, perspiration beading his forehead.

“You all right?” asked from a few steps behind him.

Dutch nodded. “Are these stairs steeper than yours?” he asked. “They seem a lot steeper.”

“There are more of them, that’s for sure,” Drew reminded him.

“I have got to find a place that has elevators,” Dutch muttered.

“Seems to me we told you that when you moved in,” retorted Drew.

Dutch stood for a long minute at the top of the first flight, catching his breath and swearing. Drew wisely said nothing, just followed as the other man made his slow progress up to his apartment. Dutch was nearly exhausted by the time he reached the landing to his apartment and Drew handed him the second crutch, but he also felt some exhilaration at his accomplishment. He looked at his brother. “This cast weighs a ton,” he muttered.

Drew grinned and shook his head. “Yet you dragged it up three flights of stairs. Good job.”

Dutch smirked. “And it’s gonna stay here for as long as I can manage it.” He swiped a hand across his forehead and then led the way to his front door. Inside, he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and collapsed gratefully onto his beat-up recliner, dropping the crutches to the side.

“Get you anything before I leave?” Drew asked.

Dutch shook his head. “I’m just gonna crash here for a couple of minutes,” he replied. “Maybe take a nap.”

“I’ll just put your stuff in your room, then,” Drew said, carrying Dutch’s suitcase into the bedroom. He unpacked it for Dutch, returned Dutch’s razor and toothbrush to the bathroom, and put the luggage into a closet where it would be out of the way. When he returned to the living room, he found Dutch still in the recliner but with a pleased expression on his face.

“Welcome home, kiddo,” Drew told him with a grin.

<><><><><><><><><>

“Hey, Gary, come on in.” Sharon Masters stepped back from the doorway of Dutch’s apartment and Gary Chambers crossed the threshold. She spoke softly. “He’s sleeping right now.”

He handed Dutch’s mother the book he was holding. “He asked me to drop this manual off,” he explained. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s mostly bored,” Sharon smiled. She gestured toward the living room.

Looking in, Gary saw Dutch ensconced on his battered sofa, right leg propped on some pillows at one end. He wore shorts and a t-shirt, and a blanket appeared to have been tossed aside and rested half-on and half-off the floor. He was sitting more or less upright, but his head rested against the back of the sofa, and a soft snoring testified to his unconscious state. An open magazine rested in his hands, and his glasses were pushed up slightly on his forehead. Gary smiled.

Dutch had been home for about a week, and as agreed, one or more of his family members stopped in every day to check on him and perform any tasks he might need assistance with. Sharon’s main task, as she saw it, was to make sure he had at least one decent meal on her days to visit.

“He’s been doing that pretty regularly,” Sharon told him.She set the manual gently down on the coffee table. “Just drops off without warning.”

“Maybe he’s resting up—a few of us were coming over tonight to play poker.”

Sharon grinned. “Yes, he told me. I was stocking up.”

Gary looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t need to do that—we’re bringing everything over.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, this way you’ll have more than enough. And,” she went on, “the sleeping bags and extra pillows are in his bedroom. I expect you guys to spend the night after all the beer I’m sure you’ll imbibe.”

Gary grinned. “Well, I was supposed to be the designated driver, but maybe I’ll take advantage of the accommodations.”

On the sofa, Dutch stirred and opened his eyes blearily.He looked around, saw Gary and lifted his head. “Hey,” he said sleepily. “You’re early.”

Gary shook his head, smiling. “Just dropping off that training manual you asked me to get out of your locker. I’ll be back later. How you doin’?”

Dutch yawned. “I’m bored silly.”

“So I hear. We’ll try to alleviate that by taking your money later.”

“Won’t be too hard,” he admitted. “You’ll have a harder time keeping me awake.”

“Even better.”

Sharon had gone into the kitchen and now came back out, collecting her things. She went over to Dutch and kissed him on top of the head. “I’m gonna head out. Beer’s in the fridge and the junk food’s on the counter. You need anything before I go?”

Dutch gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m good, Mom, thanks.” His crutches were handy, and the wheelchair rested against the near wall. He glanced at the coffee table, where a pitcher of water stood next to a glass, and picked up the book she’d placed there.“Thanks, Gary.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Gary said to Sharon. “See you later, Dutch.”

“Bring money,” Dutch called after him as the door closed behind the two. He grinned and opened the manual, as if his afternoon had never been interrupted by a nap.

<><><><><><><><><>

Gary Chambers, Andy Starks, and Jeff Grady arrived a few hours later, armed with junk food and beer and, most importantly for Dutch, funds for a poker game. He grinned dopily as they gathered noisily around his table, clearing the clutter unceremoniously onto the kitchen counters, and produced a deck of cards and the chips, settling down happily for what felt like the first time in months. It was so great to have someone else for company, even if it meant he’d wind up on the short end of capital at the end of the evening.

He sat with his leg propped carefully on a spare chair, angled enough to keep it out of the way of anyone else while at the same time enabling him to keep his cards hidden. He’d swapped out his shorts for a pair of jeans slit up the right leg to accommodate the cast. He also wore a light sweater in deference to the cooler weather, as well as a shoe on his left foot, necessary for traction as he maneuvered around the apartment on his crutches. He’d been exceedingly careful about keeping weight of any kind off his right leg.

“How’s the new guy working out?” he asked as he helped himself to a handful of pretzels.

Gary shrugged, dealing out the hand and setting the deck aside as he picked up his cards and examined them. “He’s all right, I guess.”

“Kinda fussy,” opined Andy, tossing a couple of chips into the ante.

Jeff snorted. “Not Brice fussy, thank God.”

“Aw, so nice to be missed,” smirked Dutch.

“He’s not that bad,” repeated Gary. “He’s still a probie, so he’s got a lot to learn.”

“They stuck you with a probie?”

“I don’t consider it being stuck,” replied Gary, deadpan. “I finally get a chance to have a partner who will do things the right way.”

Dutch flipped a pretzel at him.

“Any idea where you’ll be assigned when you get cleared to go back to work?” asked Jeff, sliding two cards toward Gary and motioning for replacements.

Dutch shook his head. “I’ve offered to do training or dispatch,” he explained, “but who knows where they’ll put me.”

“I think you’re nuts for even going in,” said Andy.

“I have to,” said Dutch. “I’ve been home from the hospital for three weeks and I’m climbing the walls. If I don’t get out of here they’ll be carting me out in a straitjacket.”

“I still can’t believe you fell off that platform,” snickered Gary. “I always knew you were a klutz, but sheesh. I didn’t think it was possible to fall off a zip line.”

Dutch studied his cards and then tossed them down. “Well, that’s what I get for ogling the pretty girl in front of me,” he said. “I’m out. Be back.” He carefully extricated his leg and hauled himself to his feet amid the chuckling that followed and headed to the bathroom. He studied his face in the mirror as he washed his hands. Nope, he didn’t look like a liar. He hoped.

He grabbed an Advil from the bottle on the sink and took it back with him to the table, setting it aside for later when he suspected he’d need it. He’d learned early on to get ahead of the pain.

“What’re you drinkin’, Dutch, you piker?” Andy asked, rising and grabbing empty beer cans.

“Grab me a soda, thanks,” he replied. “Somebody’s gotta stay sober.”

“Why? You’re not driving.”

“Ha, ha. You oughta go on tour.”

Andy passed around the drinks and offered the tray of sandwiches Sharon Masters had left in the fridge.

“Hey,” Jeff said, “when do the engineer exam results come out?”

“Tuesday, I think,” replied Gary, studying his cards before discarding two and getting replacements. “Why? Who took it?”

“Abrams, for one.” Jeff tossed in a couple of chips and took a bite of his sandwich.

“From 45s?”

Jeff nodded. “This is his third time.”

Gary shook his head. “Not sure I’d want to work with a guy who had that much trouble with the test,” he opined, adding his own chips to the pile.

“I hear Carrs is having panic attacks about it,” snorted Andy.

“Carrs’ll be fine with it,” said Dutch, frowning at his cards. “They don’t get much more laid back than him.”

“Yeah, but they just got the new Ward,” said Andy. “He’s having kittens about Abrams screwing it up.”

“How come all the other stations get the good stuff, and we get stuck with the junk?” Jeff wondered.

“Who you callin’ junk?” demanded Dutch.

“Raise a buck,” said Gary, tossing in another chip. “I’d rather have our junk than have Abrams driving our rig.”

“Who dealt this crap?” Dutch muttered, tossing down his cards again.

“You did,” Jeff told him.

“Well, what did you trust me with the deck for? You know I’m on drugs.” He popped the Advil in his mouth and washed it down with the soda. He carefully adjusted the position of his leg on the spare chair, trying to get more comfortable.

“You all right?” Gary asked quietly.

“Tired of losing,” Dutch told him with a grin.

“Same here,” muttered Gary. “Damn, Starks, where you hidingthe cards you’re cheating with?”

“Behind my ears.”

“Anybody need anything?” Gary stood up.

“A few extra bucks would be nice,” muttered Dutch.

Gary returned with a fresh beer and asked, “How much longer on the painkillers?”

“I’m not on painkillers anymore, but I’ll keep taking something until it stops hurting like a motherfucker,” Dutch replied cheerfully, shifting in his chair.

Gary blinked at the unexpected use of the epithet. “That bad?”

Jeff and Andy looked up from their hands, listening curiously. “Not half as bad as it was when it happened,” said Dutch, “but yeah, it’s a bitch.” He shrugged. “I’ve got about two dozen screws and four plates in there,” he explained, gesturing.

Jeff and Andy looked faintly nauseated, but Gary looked intrigued. Dutch grinned. “Wanna see the incisions?” He laughed at their expressions. “Can we get back to poker?” he asked. “Keeps my mind off the thought of setting off airport metal detectors.”

“Kinda sorry I asked,” muttered Gary, sitting back down.

Dutch snorted. “Me, too. Whose deal is it?”

They played a few more hands, gradually turning more to conversation than cards and eating. Dutch suggested they move to the living area, as he was tiring of his position between the two chairs and wanted to prop himself on the sofa. He was losing, anyhow. Andy was the big winner for the evening, happily pocketing his cash as they rose from the table and began to clear the debris. “You can have us over any time,” he told Dutch. “I always come out ahead when we play here.”

“Happy to oblige,” grinned Dutch, “but don’t worry, we’ll get back our money eventually.”

“Maybe,” agreed Andy as he dropped the empty pretzel bag in the trash, “but after tonight I’ll be able to buy dinner for my next date.”

“The imaginary one?” Jeff snorted.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

“If I nod off,” said Dutch as the others helped him get situated, “sleeping bags are in the bedroom. I expect to see you all here in the morning.”

“Yes, Dad,” they chorused.

“Smart asses.”

Eventually they turned on the television and found a cheesy old black and white horror movie, and spent the entire movie making fun of it. At some point, Dutch dozed off. Gary draped the blanket over him, stationed his crutches close by, and suggested they call it a night. Jeff was already asleep in the recliner, and Andy was in a similar state of somnolence on the floor. Shaking his head, Gary found the sleeping bags, tossed them to the others, and made himself comfortable. Within minutes, the room was filled with the snores of four sleeping firefighters.

Dutch slept better that night than he had since the accident. He woke up only once, glanced around at the mounds on the floor, shifted slightly, and went right back to sleep.

When daylight broke and they began to stir, he was surprised to find that his ankle pain was little more than a dull ache. _Well whaddya know, the motherfucker has gone to sleep._

<><><><><><><><><>

Dutch pointed to his cast. “I did not get this on the job,” he said to the group in front of him, “so don’t think I’m that much of a klutz at work.”

There were some smiles and quiet chuckles, and the nervous glances stopped and the atmosphere relaxed a little bit.

“I’m gonna go ahead and skip most of the introductions, if it’s all right with you. I’ve been a firefighter for six years and paramedic for five, which doesn’t make me an expert on much. So I guess I’m ahead of you, but don’t think I know all the answers. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask,” he added. “Let’s get started.”

A month after his release from the hospital, he was finally allowed back to work—strictly desk duty, of course. He’d spent a little time in the dispatch office, a little more time answering phones, and a lot of time being teased about his accident. He’d also been given the task of teaching a basic community first aid class, which wasn’t enough to occupy him all day long but at least gave him a change of pace from the offices.

There were twelve people in the room, of mixed ages and gender. For his convenience rather than theirs, the class was being held in a spare room at the main fire department headquarters. That way, he didn’t have to travel anywhere else.

He outlined the course for the group, gave a brief lecture on the legalities of providing first aid, and touched on some basic precautions necessary prior to rendering first aid. “I keep a box of disposable gloves in my car,” he told them, “in my first aid kit—which is probably bigger than most.”

“Have you had to use your own kit?” someone wanted to know.

“I’ve used a few Band-aids on myself a few times,” Dutch grinned.

They started asking questions about his work, and he spent the remainder of class giving them a succinct portrait of life in a fire house. They asked about his injury, and all he would tell them was that it wasn’t job-related, gently implying but not outright saying that it was none of their business. They all eventually filed out, and he found himself surprisingly tired. He realized that he had spent the entire class leaning against the table in the front of the room, most of his weight supported by one leg while the other rested on a chair.

The door opened and John Gage came in. “How’d it go?” he asked, looking around the empty room as he walked to Dutch’s side.

Dutch shrugged. “You know how it is,” he replied, “you’ve done a few of these.”

John shook his head. “Only one. That was enough.”

Dutch laughed.

“You about ready to go?”

“In a minute,” Dutch replied. He hesitated, then said, “Can we talk?”

John gave him a sideways look. “You know, when a woman says that….”

“I’m not breaking up with you, you twerp.”

“What’s up?”

Dutch reached behind him to a manila envelope that sat on the table. He lifted it and handed it to John wordlessly.

John took the envelope, looking at Dutch questioningly.

“There’s something in there you need to see.”

Puzzled, Johnny opened the envelope and looked inside, then pulled out some photographs. One eyebrow cocked, he looked at Dutch again, then rifled though the pictures. His mouth dropped open and he grew still as he studied the images. After a long minute he looked at Dutch and said, “You son of a bitch.”

“That’s what my brother said,” Dutch told him, a faint cheerfulness coloring his tone.

Johnny looked again at the pictures. One was a close-up of a broken carabiner. “Why did you lie to me?” he demanded.

Dutch returned the gaze levelly. “I did say when I fell that it had snapped,” he said mildly.

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He looked at the pictures again. “I guess I deserved that,” he said after a while.

“No argument from me.”

“I’ve sweated this out for weeks,” Johnny said.

Dutch said nothing.

“Also deserved.” He heaved a sigh and put the photos back in the envelope and handed it back to Dutch, who tossed it back on the table.

“Johnny, you’re one of my best friends,” said Dutch, folding his arms across his chest. “But I’ve gotta be able to trust my friends to not pull stupid stunts like that.” He gestured at his cast. “This is never gonna be the same. I’ve got a lifetime of issues ahead of me because of it—a year, minimum, to even fully recover.” He was now very serious. “You can’t fuck around like you do.”

Johnny nodded wordlessly, a picture of the most abject misery Dutch had ever encountered. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.

“I might not have fallen if the carabiner had held. But you have to stop acting like a putz.” He sighed and shook his head. “Lucky for you I’m a forgiving kind of guy.”

Johnny didn’t look up from his perusal of the floor. “So, what are you saying?”

“You’re off the hook, you idiot.”

Johnny smiled weakly. At last he looked up at Dutch. “Not sure I’ll ever be off the hook,” he said. “Or even that I should be let off.”

“Oh, believe me, Gage, I have all sorts of devious plans for repayment.”

Johnny’s smile brightened slightly. He reached out a hand. “We good?”

Dutch took his hand and they shook. “We’re good. Now, my friend, I need a ride home and you’re it.”

He picked up his crutches without waiting for a reply, and led the way out of the room.

<><><><><><><><><>

_Author’s note: Susan, I cannot thank you enough for being my sounding board and offering such wise suggestions. CeCe, thanks for the plot bunny. It’s been great having the boy talk to me after so long._


End file.
